Page 47 of Fortune Favors the Frivolous
“Miss Playford.”
Caroline saw by Venetia’s violent start that she had not connected the wolf traveling in their direction with Lord Windermere.
“Lord Windermere,” Caroline answered for her friend with a curt nod. “You look very… dangerous… tonight.” Desperately, she scanned the room for escape routes, but her mother had positioned herself strategically by the nearest exit.
“I certainly hope Miss Playford does not think me too dangerous to honor me with this dance.” The voice emerging from behind the silver wolf’s mask was silken, yet chilling.
Venetia’s fingers trembled in Caroline’s grasp. “Lord Windermere, indeed… I had not recognized you.”
The wolf inclined his head slightly. “I had hoped the costume might conceal my identity from most—but not from you, of course.”
“I’m afraid I’m rather fatigued—” Venetia began, but Windermere had already claimed her hand.
“Nonsense. One dance cannot possibly exhaust a young lady of your vigor.” His eyes glinted through the mask’s eyeholes. “Especially not when we have so much to discuss.”
Where was Henry?
And how could Mrs. Pike sanction this?
Caroline could only watch helplessly as Windermere led Venetia onto the dance floor. The orchestra began another waltz, the intimate three-quarter time seeming to close the world around the reluctant partners.
Venetia held herself rigid, maintaining the maximum distance propriety would allow.
“You look positively enchanting,” Windermere remarked, his gloved hand pressing slightly firmer against her waist than was strictly necessary. “In fact, dangerously daring in that almost scandalous costume. My, my, what an enigma you are. I really didn’t credit you with so much spirit. And I do love a young lady with spirit.” He sighed. “But spirit does not make up for the fact that you, Miss Playford, are penniless and without family.”
“I have my Aunt Pike,” Venetia said without thinking; and didn’t wonder that Lord Windermere let out a snide laugh.
“Yes, but unlike you, your Aunt Pike understands that you are being needlessly obstinate in resisting my handsome overtures to give you everything your heart could desire.”
“Except my right to choose my own husband, my lord,” Venetia replied.
Windermere’s laugh was low and unsettling as he guided her through a turn. “Tell me, how is your beleaguered fiancé faring amid the current… unpleasantness?”
“Mr. Ashworth’s reputation is above reproach. The malicious rumors will soon be quashed when the truth becomes public.”
“Rumors?” Windermere’s eyes narrowed behind his mask. “I think we both know they’re rather more than that. Though I suppose a woman in love would want to blind herself to another’s… indiscretions.”
“There have been no indiscretions,” Venetia insisted, though she heard her voice waver.
“My dear Miss Playford,” Windermere said, drawing her fractionally closer as they moved between other couples, “youare wasting yourself on a scoundrel. Henry Ashworth will never be more than what he is—a charming boy of moderate means and questionable judgment. He lacks the power to protect you, the connections to elevate you, and now, I fear, even the reputation to preserve you from scandal.”
Venetia attempted to increase the distance between them, but his grip was unyielding. “I have no need for elevation, my lord. I am perfectly content with Mr. Ashworth’s situation.”
“Are you? Even knowing what awaits you?” His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “Your aunt has been most forthcoming about the family’s… financial challenges. Did you know she can no longer afford to maintain you after the wedding? Ashworth has a modest income, butIcan ensure you enjoy the lifestyle to which you’ve become accustomed.”
“I do not aspire to luxury.”
“Noble sentiments from one who has never truly known want.” The wolf’s mask seemed to grin in the candlelight. “But I wonder how noble you’ll feel when you learn what else your aunt has shared with me.”
Venetia faltered slightly. “I don’t understand.”
“Your father’s letters, my dear. The ones that reveal the true circumstances of your birth.” His eyes flashed. “Oh yes, I know everything—how your mother trapped him, how your very existence destroyed the match that should have been. Your aunt was most explicit.”
“That’s—I don’t believe you!” Venetia could barely speak.
“I have seen the letters myself. As will all of society, should I choose to make them public.” The threat hung between them like an ugly, tangible thing. Venetia tried to turn her head away, but he pressed his forefinger to her chin to force her head up and look him in the eye. “Imagine the scandal—far worse than anything poor Henry is facing. Your reputation would be beyond salvation.”
The music swelled around them as Venetia struggled to maintain her composure. “You have no proof. You’re just saying it—”
